Trialculosis Sam
by Alex L. Kerr
Summary: The long, dragged-out, emotional, let's-nearly-kill-'im version of Sam dealing with the trials. Setting Season 8. Post S8E20, right after Dean says, "Want me to do the whole, uh, airplane thing with the spoon?" Relevant tags: Sick!Sam, Hurt!Sam, Awesome!Dean, BigBro!Dean, Schmoop, Brotherly Love, Fever, Paralysis, Dehydration, Anemia.
1. Dehydration

**Writer's Note: Just want to share that I am writing this in anticipation of the deplorably low amount of hurt!Sam h/c this upcoming week's episode will inevitably have, haha.**

**So anyone interested in reading the long, dragged-out, emotional, let's-nearly-kill-'im version of Trialculosis!Sam, here you go (and, also, WARNING: the very first sequence here is a _SPOILER_ to 8.21, as it's a scene featured in the sneak peak released by the CW a few days ago). I know it's a little annoying if you've already seen the clip, but it flies by fast.**

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"Want me to do the whole, uh, airplane thing with the spoon?" Dean asked lightly, waiting for some sort of a response from Sam.

Nothing.

Dean threw the spoon down, annoyed.

"When was the last time you ate?" he challenged. Sam frowned and shook his head with apathy.

"I don't-"

"Days, Sam, s'been three days."

Sam rolled his eyes. Dean wasn't making his point.

He glanced up at his brother in time to see him pull a thermometer out of his pocket. Sam huffed with skepticism.

"When'd you get that?"

"When you started throwin' off heat waves," Dean bit back. He shook it a couple times and leaned in towards Sam, extending the thing out. Sam reacted, backing the chair out and dropping the stupid blanket Dean had thrown on him from before.

"Enough!" Sam murmured, stumbling over as he rose to his feet, "Dean, please..." he finished, too fatigued to be genuinely pissed, but too well to take Dean's ministrations. Dean withdrew the thermometer and pursed his lips.

"The bloody handkerchief, the fever, the shaky legs. This is not good," Dean waved at Sam.

"Well _I'm_ not good... and I'm not _going_ to be good until we can start moving again. Until I can start the third trial-"

"_Trial_? I wouldn't let you start a _mo-ped_," Dean shot back, throwing the thermometer on the table. "We're on the rails with this thing, okay? And the only way out of it, is through it. Believe me, I know. And you know how badly I want to slam the door on all those sons of bitches," Dean lectured, then softened, "...but you gotta let me take care of you, man. You gotta let me help you get your strength back."

Sam sighed, exhausted.

"This isn't a cold. Or a fever or whatever it is you're s'posed to feed. This is part of it _all_. Those first two trials... they're not just things I did - they're doing something _to_ me. They're changing me, Dean."

Dean let Sam's words hang in silence. He had too many things to say and he couldn't streamline them. Finally, he nodded and broke his gaze to stare at the plate on the table. He picked up the spoon and threw it onto the tray.

"Y'gonna eat?" he murmured, staring at the stew. He heard Sam sigh again.

"M'not hungry," Sam replied, sorely sitting back down into his chair.

"Okay," Dean said softly, pulling the tray away from Sam and heading back to the kitchen with it.

...

Sam blinked the water out of his eyes and sniffed as he hovered over the papers spread out on the table. His vision was blurring. Still cogent, he wondered if this was what it felt like to be dyslexic. The letters jumped and shifted in front of him - words seemed to float and shake.

He leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"You tired?" Dean undertoned, startling Sam. Sam looked up to see his brother next to him, leaning against the table.

"-Jesus..." Sam breathed.

"Sorry," Dean murmured, moving over the table to pile the papers together.

"No - Dean! What're you doing? They're organized," Sam jumped forward in his chair, trying to get Dean to stop what he was doing. At his brother's touch, Dean stopped and turned to scrutinize him.

"You know what time it is?" Dean asked, crouching down so Sam could look down at him. Sam blinked and, keeping his clouded gaze on Dean, shook his head and shrugged. Dean raised his wrist to show him his watch, eyes expectant.

"Nearly one in the morning. We'll pick this up later, Sam. C'mon," Dean said casually, standing up. He made no move to help Sam up, for which Sam was thankful, and started tidying the papers again.

Sam gave a long sigh and rubbed his eyes. He was slightly disturbed that he didn't have the strength to stop Dean from moving the papers on the table again. He was too out of it.

"Okay," he whispered, setting his palm on the table for balance as he moved to stand up. He felt the chair move out from behind him as he stood.

"Dean, don't-" Sam said, irritated even just by that one small gesture. Dean ignored it as he came around to face him.

"Are you okay to walk?" Dean asked seriously, his hands at his side, not clasped in anger, but rather ready to reach out. Sam winced with distaste.

"Yes, I'm fucking okay to _walk,_" Sam rasped harshly, pushing off from the table and shoving against Dean's shoulder as he moved past him.

Fuming, Sam managed straight steps to the end of the table. It dawned upon him then that the steam he was moving under - his anger, his frustration - was overwhelming. He felt overheated and light-headed. The floor had started to spin at some point but Sam could still see the step down he needed to take before he could enter into the hallway where they'd set up their bedrooms.

He grimaced and swallowed, trying to keep himself upright and steady, trying to keep his nausea at bay, as he took the steep step down.

The step wasn't steep though. His depth perception was shot to hell. Sam gasped as the ground shot up and twisted like a kaleidoscope as his foot landed. His knee buckled and the floor spun closer. His reaction time off, he tried to brace himself by raising his hands up in front of him.

Instead of the floor, he felt a sudden harsh constriction around his chest, a hand clamping tightly and painfully along his side, and a sharp tug that forced his body to tumble left. Sam landed on his left side, his head hitting Dean's chest as Dean took the full brunt of Sam's weight in the fall.

"God damn it," Dean wheezed, eyes tearing from the impact.

"Dean-" Sam gasped, still lying on his brother. His breathing had gone fast and shallow; he was so dizzy and weak that he couldn't lift himself up. "I.. can't.." Sam gasped.

Sam moved his hand up, vaguely searching for the floor.

"Sam, Sam what is it?"

Sam felt Dean's hand on the back of his head and his whole world tipped upside down as Dean started to roll him off of him. Sam knew Dean was never anything but gentle with him, but the fever and his vision caused the movement to feel rough and way too intense.

"Hey-hey-hey, Sam?"

Sam grimaced and made an effort to open his eyes as Dean laid him down on his back on the floor. The vaulted ceilings were huge and brilliantly lit - they started to swirl above him and Sam closed his eyes with a miserable sob.

"Over," he heard Dean's order and felt his brother push him onto his side. He went with it and felt Dean's hand push on his stomach then chest.

"No..." Sam gasped, hating the gesture, feeling like it was too much touching - too much sensation for him to handle. He was going to be sick.

"C'mon Sam, it's okay..." he heard his brother murmur. Sam's eyes were tearing up as he shook his head.

"I'm... gonna... be sick..."

"No you're not - you haven't eaten anything for the past three days," Dean replied quickly from behind him, the meaning of his words flashing fast enough for Sam to understand. "Just pull through it. Breathe."

Sam felt Dean's other hand brace his forehead. Sam squeezed his eyes shut, swallowed, and gave a trembling nod. He felt sweat trickling down his face and knew that Dean must be feeling the temperature spike.

"_Fuck_, Sam," he heard Dean whisper. Sam held his breath for a moment as he cringed, trying to suppress tears. He was always Dean's burden. He'd tried so hard not to let this happen...

"I'm sorry," he rasped between hyperventilating breathes. "I... didn't..."

Dean wiped Sam's hair back from his face.

"Sam, stop," Dean murmured, "Are you shaking because you're cold?" _or just upset_?

"I... don't know," Sam replied haltingly. He felt a pressure on his side as Dean leaned over him. A second later he felt a blanket draped over him.

"Okay, just relax, the floor's comfortable, right?" Dean joked, though his tone was anything but humorous. Sam remained still and focused on nothing. Dean stayed silent.

"Okay... you still feel sick?" Dean finally asked quietly.

Sam blinked at the polished hardwood.

"Floor's not moving anymore."

"Okay that's as good as I'm gonna get," Dean murmured more to himself than Sam, and started to roll his brother onto his back on the floor. Dean hovered over him, appraising him, worried.

Sam could only look up at his brother as Dean repositioned the blanket onto his chest. He closed his eyes as his headache worsened and clasped a hand over his eyes.

"This sucks," Sam whispered.

"Yeah," Dean replied softly, "Open your mouth." Sam brushed his hand off his face and opened his eyes to slits to see Dean ticking the thermometer back and forth in front of him. Sam sighed and pleaded one last time with his eyes. Dean tilted his head. "Dude, c'mon," _you know better_.

Dean leaned in and lifted Sam's head up.

Sam acquiesced and took the thermometer under his tongue. Dean pushed Sam's sweat-slicked hair back and pressed his fingers against Sam's neck to check his pulse.

"Your pulse is too fast," Dean whispered as he started to get up.

"I coulda told 'oo that," Sam grumbled, the thermometer hindering his pronunciation. He watched Dean leave his line of sight.

"Stay lying down. Don't try getting up yet," Dean ordered. Sam was still out of it, but he detected the regret in his brother's voice. He felt Dean's footsteps become more distant. The echoes in the room made Dean seem like he was on the other side of a tunnel... and then the movement and sound just disappeared. Dean had vanished to some other part of the house, leaving Sam down on the floor.

Finally alone, Sam could despair.

"Fuck," Sam whispered, cringing with pain. He pulled the thermometer out of his mouth and squinted to see what it said: 103.4. _Great radio station_, he thought idly as he clamped down against an inward sob.

The floor vibrated minutely beneath him. The sounds of footsteps approaching signaled Dean's return. Sam reached out to palm the floor, about to try to lift himself up to a sitting position.

"Hey no, _stay down_," Dean ordered loudly. Sam grimaced but automatically did as he was told. "How you feeling?"

"Like shit."

"Symptoms? - You took the thermometer out," Dean added, annoyed.

"Said 103.4."

"Okay," Dean replied, pulling Sam's wrist and setting it onto his knee.

"Wh-what're you doing?" Sam asked groggily.

"You wouldn't," Dean said calmly as he tied a band around Sam's forearm, "let me play big brother, " Dean uncapped a needle, "so," he settled it over a vein, "now I'm playing doctor," he trailed off slowly, his tone thoroughly miserable, as he carefully directed the needle into Sam's skin. Sam bit his lip and made an effort to stay still. Once in the vein, Dean glanced at Sam as he pressed cotton balls lightly around the puncture. He twisted around and grabbed a strip of tape he'd had ready and taped the IV down.

"S'just for a couple of hours," Dean murmured.

"What 'sit?"

Dean gave a small shrug as he lifted the bag, then an eyebrow.

"Can you read it?"

Sam squinted.

"Saline."

Dean nodded approvingly.

"Good job. Where you want to sleep tonight?"

Sam groaned.

"Here's good."

Sam twitched a smile when he heard Dean chuckle. Sam started to turn over, thinking Dean's question about where to sleep was a tacit message to try to get up, and placed his free hand against the floor again for leverage.

"Hey hey hold on," Dean pushed Sam back down again. Still weak, Sam fell back with a huff. "We're in no rush. Let the drip do something before we get up, all right?"

Sam lazily turned to look directly at Dean. His eyes were half-lidded, but he was still relatively aware. They remained silent together, Sam lying down and Dean sitting in a hunched position next to him. Dean preferred the lack of conversation - made it easier to monitor Sam's breathing. He checked the solution every once in awhile.

"The ceilings are too high," Sam murmured, his gaze on Dean. Dean turned, his brow furrowed with confusion, and he tilted his head.

"What?"

"They're- The ceilings," Sam vaguely pointed up, "They're vaulted. Too high. Made me..." Sam swallowed, accidentally revisiting the sense of nausea from staring up at the cavernous library before.

Sam felt Dean's warm, dry hand clasp his and set it back down on his chest.

"All right. Just don't look up, then. Focus on me, okay?"

Sam winced, swallowed, and nodded as he blinked up at Dean.

"Ugly," Sam smiled.

"What?"

"Your ugly face."

"Yeah Sam, my ugly face. Just relax, man," Dean replied absently, sighing as he looked around the library.

"...Dean?" Sam's voice was small, tentative. Dean looked back down at Sam, concerned.

"What?"

"I can do the third trial."

Sam watched Dean's eyes light with anger. He turned away so Sam couldn't see his face. Sam could still see Dean's head shake then look down at the floor though.

"I promise," Sam begged, "Dean-?"

Sam felt a tear fall down his cheek.

Dean turned back finally. Sam was surprised to see compassion in his brother's gaze.

"I know, Sammy," Dean tried to smile, "I know you can."

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**End Note: A couple more chapters to go. Thank you so much for reading - please leave a comment/review if you can spare the time!**


	2. Blood Loss

**Writer's Note: Just figured out that 's notices to me were ID'd as spam by my email provider a month ago. So, if you've reviewed anything in the past month to me (or just said hi - I like those PMs, too!), you'll be getting PMs thanking you/responding from me quite soon. **

**Thank you so much for the reviews you ****_have_**** posted to me/this story! I love you guys. ~ Alex**

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Sam woke up on his stomach, his breathing labored, and just as he registered a hand roughly rubbing his back, he broke into wracking coughs. The first cough plowed through the relative silence and suddenly noise was everywhere - a chair screeched roughly along the floor next to the bed and Sam heard the bed sheets rustling as the bed depressed next to him.

"Okay, okay-"

"Dean-" Sam gasped as he propped himself up by his elbows, starting to gag. He found he was too weak to lift up any higher. A wave of heat engulfed his body as it strained and shook under his coughs.

"It's okay, Sam, just hold on a second-"

Sam felt Dean grasp him around the chest and shove him further over to the opposite side of the bed. Sam grunted and coughed harder but Dean didn't let go.

"All right.. and.. _Up_!" Dean said. Sam felt another sudden rush of movement as Dean bodily lifted him up and rolled him back over, this time against Dean's chest as he sat against the headboard. Sam was coughing so hard now that he almost ripped out of Dean's hold as he doubled over.

"Good-good-good - lean forward just like that," Dean coached. A small chrome-metal bowl appeared in front of Sam as he hacked up blood. Sam grabbed the bowl with both hands and Dean wrapped an arm against Sam's chest to brace him.

"I feel - I can't... breathe..." Sam gasped, coughing and spitting blood into the bowl after every word. He felt Dean's other arm release and his palm started jamming against Sam's back at every coughed exhale.

"Dean- Don't..." Sam pleaded, trying to get Dean to stop.

"If you can cough, you can breathe, Sammy, c'mon," Dean replied evenly, unwilling to stop his bracing shoves against Sam's back. Sam would be bruised afterwards, Dean acknowledge regrettably. Sam felt tears welling up as he gagged and watched the blood expel in splatters against the bowl.

"Shit," Sam rasped between gags and gasps, unsure if his heart was beating so fast from the coughing or the fear of having thrown up so much blood.

The attack started to taper off and Sam was left leaning forward, heaving over the puddle of pure red blood inside the bowl. Dean let Sam be for few seconds, turning the hits against his back into gentle rubs.

"Okay, you done?" Dean whispered, already reaching to take the bowl from Sam's trembling hands. Sam nodded shakily, spitting into it one last time before allowing Dean to set the thing on the nightstand.

He felt Dean behind him strain to reach something. He heard water dripping & a moment later a lukewarm washcloth pressed up against his mouth.

"Mm, I go' it" Sam murmured, weakly reaching up and grabbing the cloth from Dean's hand. "Okay," Dean said softly, letting go once Sam had a decent hold on it. Sam shakily washed his mouth and chin free of blood. The cloth felt good and Sam flipped it over to wipe the rest of his face. Sweat and tear tracks disappeared under the soft terrycloth.

"Sam?" Dean's voice sounded alarmed.

"Yeah?"

Dean got up from the bed and turned around to stare at his brother with wide eyes. Sam noticed he was holding the bowl. Dean set it back down again on the table quickly and moved forward.

"Listen, don't argue with me right now, okay?" He said sharply as he stuffed two pillows up against the headboard of the bed behind Sam.

"Wha- Dean-!" Sam voice scratched out in surprise as Dean grabbed him under the arms and boosted him up against the pillows. Just as Sam's head was about to hit the wall, Dean's hand shot out and bent his neck down.

"Uh..." Sam groaned, suddenly light-headed. Blankets fell over him and pushed up against his chest.

"Sam, listen to me closely," Dean's eyes were directly in front of him now, and Sam's expression couldn't have communicated a dazed _what the fuck, Dean_ any better. Dean's mouth pulled into a straight line.

"_Sam!_" He yelled harshly, and Sam jerked in response, his pinched face the picture of annoyance when Dean snapped sharply within an inch of his eyes.

"_What_?!" Sam rasped back, pissed.

"You've lost too much blood. You pass out on me, I'm calling an ambulance, do you understand me?"

"Whattaya gonna do?" Sam slurred, unable to control his language but still aware.

"You seriously need to eat something. I'll be right back. Do not pass out on me, do you understand? Hey. _Hey!_" Dean snapped against Sam's ear and Sam jerked back up, eyes widening.

"Yeah, Dean, Jesus Christ..."

And then Dean was gone.

It took a few seconds for Sam to register that Dean had left. His vision was starting to come in jerky flashes. His sight wandered the room. It felt like super-speed, his senses heightened, his mind registering every little trinket and oddity inside, zeroing in and studying its texture and shape with intensity. His breath started to pick up as he saw the knives on the shelf, Dean's vinyls against the wall.

All he wanted to do was close his eyes but something tugged at him to stay awake.

"Mmm," he hummed, trying to get his voice to anchor him, "I'm 'n D'n's room," he said out loud, his voice low and gravelly. He blinked and the single moment of darkness felt great, but he had to keep them open. He had to keep them open for... something. Sam's eyes rolled as a fresh wave of nausea blew through him and he accidentally caught sight of the vaulted ceilings again.

"_Fuck_," he gasped, averting his gaze in order to stave off watching the kaleidoscope start to turn and twist above. He found himself staring at the bedside table. The bowl was gone - Dean had taken it out with him - leaving the picture of their mother leaning against the lamp.

Sam felt sweat trickle down his face as he listened to the room's silence. She was smiling. His breathing started to steady. Her eyes were kind and calm, matching the delicate smile perfectly.

"Hey, Mom," Sam whispered, staring at the photo.

Her expression was simple happiness. Sam squinted and focused on that.

"You nev'r coulda known," Sam whispered wistfully. He blinked back tears and sniffed, staring at his mother's visage. "Dean's okay!" he added suddenly, his voice strained yet pitched, having salvaged something good to tell her.

Sam studied his mother's unchanging expression, searching for something. He blinked lazily, eyelids starting to feel too heavy to hold up.

"You're beautiful," Sam slurred quietly. "I... wish..." Sam trailed off, about to fall asleep, when he heard a whispered, "me too, Sammy," next to him on the other side of the bed. Sam flinched at the sound and opened his eyes to see Dean sitting down at his bedside.

"De-"

Sam felt his brother's palm on his cheek, the back of his neck, and angled his face up. Green eyes stared into his and Sam was utterly confused when they crinkled into a kind smile.

"I wasn't kidding about the airplane spoon, y'know," he said, his smile turning into a grin.

Sam snorted, exhausted and unable to drum up any kind of resentment. Sam sighed, defeated and all too aware that he was at Dean's mercy now. He pinned his brother with wide, sad eyes.

"Please don't feed me," Sam asked bluntly, tiredly. Dean laughed.

"Ahh," Dean drawled, acting disappointed about giving in to Sam's request, "Okay." He leaned back and reached out to grab the protein shake he'd mixed. "Here, can you hold it?" He asked, guiding Sam's hands over the glass.

"S'cold," Sam murmured.

"You always liked it better that way."

"I do," Sam replied quietly, grasping the glass tightly. His hands still shook and Dean held one hand over both of Sam's as he opened a straw and stuck it into the glass.

"Drink up. Seriously as fast as you can, dude," Dean added sincerely, still keeping his hand over Sam's as he shot the straw wrapper into the garbage nearby. He turned back to look at Sam, who nodded to Dean as he inhaled the shake.

"G'job," Dean murmured, watching.

Sam kept his eyes on Dean.

Dean winked.

When the shake was halfway done, Sam lifted his lips from the straw, breathing somewhat heavily from the gulps he'd been taking.

"You... have Mom's eyes."

Dean lifted his eyebrows in surprise.

"Thanks, bud," he replied lightly, "Finish the shake."

Sam nodded and lifted a weak hand to nudge the straw to his mouth again.

...

Sam was sleeping. Not well, but...

Dean washed a hand across his face as he stepped out of his room and into the corridor. He took a left towards the library, but that wasn't his destination. He stopped at the threshold of Sam's room. Yes, it was closer to the library and thus would've been an easier move. It'd been a split-second judgment, though. He wanted Sam in his room.

Dean opened the door to Sam's room to check if there was anything Sam might want. He idly realized that he always kept his door open whereas Sam kept his closed.

The door fell open silently and Dean's heart sank as he surveyed the surroundings. It looked more like a barrack than a room. There were two beds, both well-made, in the center of the floor. Sam's duffel rested on his desk. Dirty clothes in the laundry basket. Nothing more.

Dean swept the room with his eyes again, searching for something, anything besides Sam's clothes, to identify that his little brother occupied the space.

Finding nothing and at a loss, Dean stepped inside and walked in between the two beds. He felt the mattresses. They were both rock hard. He felt the pillows: cheap, military-grade, and flat. Nothing hung on the walls. No scattered books on the floor.

"What the hell..." Dean whispered.

Sam had possessions... Didn't he?

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**Writer's Note: Thank you so much for reading! Please review/comment if you can spare the time! ~ Alex**


	3. Fever

Consciousness was murky at best. Sam was having difficulty thinking about much, continually fixating on the words, 'third trial,' and 'Dean.'

"Dean... y'don'... get it..." Sam murmured, staring at the floor from the side of the bed, vaguely admiring the shine of the chrome bowl that Dean had cleaned at some point while he'd been out.

"S'okay... S'gonna be okay..." Sam murmured, his thoughts whirring around in a circle, seeming to get faster and faster. _Dean. The third trial. My job. Can do it. This is nothing. Get up. Need to stop fucking around. Kevin. Kevin. Find Kevin. Dean, it's okay. Go find Kevin. The third trial. I can do it. My job..._

Around and around until Sam landed on a fully thought-out sentence. _I don't care if I die. Need to find Kevin before I die so I can finish the third trial._

Sam's legs had been moving, his breath coming in shallow, but when he got to this thought, he felt the need to move, roll over, _do something_. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling water press out from under his lids. Disoriented in the darkness, he rolled forward, felt a knock against his head - Dean's nightstand - and crumpled over the bedside.

Sam didn't feel himself falling. Just felt the jolt of landing onto the floor. A muffled grunt and Sam weakly pulled the bowl out from under him, then sagged down to feel the cold surface of the floor. Breathing heavily, he let himself lie there until his already overheated body triggered a short-lived frustration with the blankets that he'd brought with him during the fall.

Sam struggled to kick the blankets off, panting with exertion by the end of it, but still hot and overheated. Without any consideration, he pulled off his track pants and kicked them down further below him towards the foot of the bed where the blankets were pooled. A second later, he'd pulled off his shirt - a more complicated process - and bunched it up as a makeshift pillow before he fell back onto the floor.

It was cool there, the surface smooth and clean. After a few short minutes, the sweat covering Sam's body started to evaporate off and Sam, too busy trying to get his breathing back to normal, vaguely registered a chill run through him. And then another.

Sam brought his knees up to his chest as he rested on the floor to warm up, having forgotten the covers near the foot of the bed. Shivers ran through his spine as Sam stared out at nothing, the light of the room dimly reflecting off surfaces that felt comfortable and familiar. Nevertheless, he started feeling like he was in a freezer.

Sam's body trembled to a greater degree this time, jerking him awake and back to a higher level of consciousness.

"_Shit_," Sam whispered, realizing his fever had taken over at some point. He was able to pick up on the fact that lying half-naked on the floor next to a bed was not normal or healthy. Now frigid, Sam reached up behind him to orient himself - the bed was right there. Sam only had to roll over and push himself back up onto it.

He turned over onto his back and lifted his head up. Immediately his surroundings started spinning. His hair was wet and cold, clinging against his neck and face. He managed to spot the bed, widening and squinting his eyes to see it clearly. It wavered above him as he reached out from his prone position, laying a shaky palm against the side of the mattress to confirm it was real. He felt a vague sense of urgency pull at him: he should get back up on the bed before his brother finds him. Sam didn't want Dean worrying any more than he already was.

With strength pulled from that thought, Sam gripped the edge of the bed tightly and used all his strength to pull his torso up and level to the mattress. He groaned as the world tipped again and he swore. He couldn't tell whether his body was swaying or if it was the fever mangling his sense of balance. The room was suddenly too bright, illuminating too many things, and he closed his eyes. He let his head fall onto the mattress, taking a breather. He knew he had to lift himself back up onto the bed eventually, but he couldn't concentrate - had to pull himself together again before pushing up with his legs to fall over and onto the damn mattress.

No longer cold, his entire body still shook under the stress. Nausea hit him fast and sharp and Sam swallowed instinctively, squeezing his eyes tighter and pulling his arms to cover his head more fully as he breathed into the mattress. It still felt like he was at sea in a storm, the floor waving and lifting up and down - Sam's sense of understanding slowly slipping again, giving into the fever and forgetting why he was perched against the side of the bed to begin with...

"Sam-? Sam?" A voice pierced through the drumming in Sam's ears. "What're you doing on the floo-" The voice came closer and Sam breathed heavily, his back arching, trying to calm himself down enough to handle this extra element to his world. Dean.

"Don' ... Don' move me," Sam slurred as he flinched at Dean's hand on his shoulder. He breathed heavily again, trying to hold back on throwing up. He felt the hand leave his shoulder. "De-?" He murmured quietly, certain Dean hadn't actually heard him.

A second later he felt blankets - warm, soft cotton wrap around him. Sam automatically starting shaking under them, starting to generate heat again as he unconsciously registered it'd be conserved now. "Than' you," Sam murmured just as he felt Dean's hands rub his back and shoulders quickly for heat from friction.

"What's goin' on?" Dean asked gently, crouched and hovered behind him.

"'M c-cold..." Sam stammered, still pressed against the mattress with eyes closed. The blankets were helping and Sam's nausea had died down. Another chill shot through Sam and Dean stopped his ministrations for a second. Sam sensed Dean sitting down on the floor right next to him - behind him - and then Dean's arms wrap around him.

"Y'know," Dean said, his casual tone belying his worry as he pulled Sam back lightly off the mattress with his hands. Sam didn't want to at first, but Dean's was bracing him carefully - one hand around his waist, the other across his chest. Sam slid back easily once he let go of the mattress, realizing that Dean had done this to him when he'd been sick as a kid. "-getting on the floor and pulling your clothes off isn't what you're supposed to do when you're cold," Dean finished, settling Sam back against his chest.

"Uh... The... bed," Sam gulped as he angled around in Dean's lap to look at the bed.

"I know, I'll get you there," Dean assured kindly, pulling the spare blankets further over Sam and tightening them. "Get warm first. You're still shaking."

"Am I?" Sam asked, bewildered, lifting his head over to see Dean but failing. His head fell backwards to land on Dean's shoulder instead.

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean whispered, leaning his head against Sam's tiredly and repositioning his arms around Sam, keeping him warm.

They stayed on the floor for awhile. Every tremor in Sam's body getting met with Dean pressuring more blankets around him or a better hold on him. Sam gave a deep sigh, starting to feel better, and Dean's hand wiped his wet hair off his face. Dean moved up from his position, tilting over to grab the thermometer from his back pocket.

"I think your fever's breaking. Here," Dean spoke up. Sam opened his eyes wearily to see the thermometer coming at him. "Don't bite it, dude," Dean said as Sam took it under his tongue again.

"Wouldn've bi' i'," Sam retorted groggily. They stayed there for a minute, waiting for the thermometer to work. Sam blinked and lifted a hand to hold the thermometer in place in his mouth as he moved up closer to Dean.

"You almost ready to get back in bed?" Dean asked casually. Sam nodded and felt Dean's hand cover his as he took point and pulled the thermometer out of Sam's mouth. Sam licked his lips.

"101.9," Dean murmured, squinting at the thermometer as he held Sam.

"S'better," Sam whispered, "right?"

"Yeah," Dean trailed off, "All right let's get you up-" Dean said, setting the thermometer down and starting to pull Sam up, blankets and all. Sam stumbled, his legs weak, but realized that Dean was capable of lifting him up without Sam's help - high enough to the point where he just nudged Sam forward so Sam could fall onto the mattress.

He landed in a heap, pulling his legs up and wanting to stay still like that forever. Dean pulled the blankets out from under him and whipped them out again.

"Dean - Kevin..." Sam murmured as he felt the sheets and comforter land on top of him one by one. He rolled over onto his stomach.

"I know, Sam, but we can't do anything yet. Not until you're better," Dean replied, his tone grim.

"'M not gonna get... better..." Sam replied, his voice thick. He felt the bed depress nearby and a hand on his head.

"You're gonna get better, Sammy," Dean said softly, carding his fingers through Sam's hair. Sam's eyes closed and he reached out for Dean and managed to grip his knee. "I gotchya," Dean whispered.

"I like your room," Sam muttered randomly, his voice muffled by the pillow. "S'ry for taking... your bed..."

Dean looked at his exhausted brother and quirked an eyebrow.

"Dude, I _put_ you here."

Sam sniffed.

"Oh yeah. Thanks."

Dean bit his lip, studying his brother.

"Hey Sam?"

"Mm."

"Why don't you have stuff in your room?"

"Wha' stuff?"

"I don't know, _stuff_."

Sam sighed heavily.

"-your stuff," he murmured, practically asleep. Dean moved closer.

"What?"

"Always had your stuff," Sam slurred. Sam gave a heavy sigh, moved his hand off Dean's knee, and turned his head on the pillow to get more comfortable.

Dean huffed in consideration, staring at his little brother. It was kind of true - they'd always shared, but Dean had always been the outright owner of most of their things. It dawned on him that he kept his room's door open so often because Sammy would come _in_ so often. Dean felt a wave of affection towards his little brother. Some things didn't change.

Dean nudged Sam over so he could rest on the bed next to him. He rubbed Sam's back until he was sure the kid was asleep.

One thing was for sure. Dean was going to get Sam some memory foam after all of this.

* * *

**Writer's Note: Thank you so much for reading! Please review/comment if you can spare the time! (Looking forward to watching 8.21 now & hoping it won't totally destroy my momentum on this fic, haha). Thank you again! ~ Alex**


	4. Numb Part I

**Writer's Note:** This is seriously going to be the lengthiest _gen_, "Plot, What Plot?" fic I've ever written... Screw integrity: I think I just wish my dog could turn into Dean at night whenever I'm sick.

* * *

Sam woke up with a jolt, his body shivering him up and aware. His grasp tightened on instinct and only a second later when Dean returned the pressure did he realize he was practically lying on him: his knee bent across Dean's legs, his torso covering Dean's left side, his head against Dean's collarbone and neck. The sense memory was there for them both from years of childhood and growing up. Sleeping with Dean was simply and plainly comfortable... and Dean was always warm.

He felt Dean's hand brace the back of his head. Sam went with it, bending his head down and curling in further, trembling.

"Okay... okay..." Dean whispered, sounding like he was talking to himself more than Sam. His fingers combed through the strands of Sam's damp greasy hair and Sam sighed with appreciation at the same time his body gave a sharp shiver. He felt Dean's other hand reach over to pull the blankets up over them, nearly covering Sam's head. Dean rubbed Sam's back and shoulders. "It's okay," he said softly, trying to lull Sam back to sleep.

` It worked.

...

"Dean?... _Dean_?"

Dean flinched and blinked his eyes open. He frowned as he looked down at Sam's head in the crook of his arm.

"Mm what?" He asked sleepily, unconsciously hugging Sam to him. He tried to focus, becoming vaguely aware that Sam was raising his hands up into the air above the bedspread, palms facing them. "What're you doing Sam?"

"Dean I.. I can't..." Sam murmured below him, swaying his arms a little bit as he tried to clench his fingers. They barely moved. "I can't feel my... h-hands..." he said just as Dean reached out to pull his brother's right hand from the air and into his grip.

"You can't feel that?" He asked, placing gentle pressure on Sam's fingers and palm. Dean felt Sam shake his head against his shoulder.

"No..." Sam answered wonderingly and Dean moved up on the bed _fast_, jostling Sam until his head was settled against the pillow. Dean leaned over to turn on the lamp on the nightstand and both of them squinted when the room lit up a warm yellow. The two of them had been sleeping soundly; their skin was thin and papery, hair disheveled, faces pale, expressions pinched.

Dean turned back to look over his brother groggily and found Sam continuing to blankly studying his left hand as he blinked the light and sleep out of his eyes. "I can't... feel either of them..." he trailed off. Dean winced at the sight of the numb extremity, still too asleep to take action.

"Dean," Sam said, his voice suddenly scared.

"Okay," Dean replied quickly, kicking into gear. His voice was still hoarse from having just woken up but he was as alert as ever as he kneeled closer and hunched towards Sam on the bed. "Here," he said, holding his hands out. Sam automatically placed his hands into Dean's, looking up into his brother's eyes to anchor him. Dean looked up and kept the gaze as he massaged Sam's hands.

"Nothing?"

Sam shook his head, eyes watery. "No."

"They're warm - you could've just been sleeping on them wrong," Dean ventured quietly, massaging Sam's hands and wrists more vigorously now. He didn't take his eyes off Sam though.

Sam swallowed nervously and shook his head.

"No, no they were just on my chest when I woke up," Sam replied, his voice trembling.

"Okay, relax. It's okay, Sammy," Dean reassured, his voice still crackling from sleep. He moved up to feel along Sam's forearms.

"How about that? Do you feel that?"

Sam was about to look down at what Dean was doing when Dean spoke up.

"No, Sammy, look at me, " Dean ordered, knowing Sam's mind would convince itself that it was feeling Dean's touch if he saw it. "Do you feel it?"

A tear in Sam's eye rolled down his cheek when he shook his head and tried to swallow his panic. A pained look came over Dean and he let go of one of Sam's arms to lean forward and touch his cheek.

"Hey... hey c'mon it's fine. It's going to be fine. It's just... asleep," he said, referring to Sam's hands. "They'll wake up."

Sam braced himself and nodded courageously. Dean sat back and started moving up Sam's arms again.

"Okay just tell me when you start to feel something, Sammy," he whispered, moving up to Sam's forearms.

"Okay," Sam replied shakily, staring at Dean as his brother stared right back - only he could tell that Dean was massaging his arms. Dean didn't want him looking but he could still see Dean's shoulders and upper arms moving. It was incredibly disconcerting: Sam knew Dean's hands were on him even though he couldn't feel a damn thing. The bed was rocking as Dean worked on his hands, wrists, forearms. At some point Dean broke eye contact to focus on Sam's limbs. The room was silent save for their breaths, the sheets rustling under Dean's ministrations, and Sam's silent prayers that he'd be able to feel something soon. Sam searched his big brother's expression, looking for any sign that this was too much for him or that he was really worried for Sam. But Dean was pulling out all the stops: it wasn't even a poker face, Sam knew. It was Dean's own brand of self-control: focusing on one task - one job - and refusing to entertain any other thoughts.

Dean moved up Sam's arms methodically until Sam felt a warm twinge.

"Mm... Yeah, I feel that," Sam reported, his eyes widening and looking down at his left elbow. Dean's hand had stopped at Sam's hum then immediately resumed motion.

"You feel that?"

Sam sighed with something like relief and nodded.

"Yeah," he replied just as he felt the same warmth and pressure against his right elbow.

"Same with this one?" Dean asked, rubbing Sam's elbow and upper arm. Sam managed a small smile.

"Yeah."

Dean gave a sigh and let go, leaning forward and placing his hands on Sam's face. Sam wasn't sure what was going on as they shared a really unusual moment of gazing into each other's eyes.

"Good," Dean whispered seriously, "You're not useless."

Sam's head jerked back as he cringed, confused and a little hurt... until he realized Dean was joking. Sam huffed, unable to hide a smile at the playful glint in Dean's eyes as he broke into a grin.

"You're a jerk," Sam gasped in good humor, flopping his numbed hands against Dean's chest and trying to push him off. Dean gave a hoarse laugh, ignored Sam's ineffective hands, and brushed his little brother's hair back affectionately before he moved away. Sam thought Dean was going to settle back next to him so he turned on his side. He waited for the light to go off and to feel Dean lie down next to him but it didn't come.

"Dean?"

"Can you feel this?" Dean's voice came back to him from the foot of the bed and Sam turned to look down. Dean had his hands on Sam's feet above the covers. Sam looked up at Dean and pursed his lips, shaking his head. Dean nodded.

"Okay, same deal, look somewhere else until you feel something," Dean murmured, his voice calm but clinical. Sam nodded, blinking, and looked off to the side. He felt the bed moving as Dean moved up his leg but he didn't feel anything until Dean hit his knee.

"Ah - there," Sam announced meekly. Dean stopped, then placed pressure on his kneecap.

"Here?"

"Yeah," Sam breathed. Dean moved to the other leg and placed his hand over Sam's other knee. "Yeah I feel that too."

"Sweet, so..."

Sam felt Dean's hand creep under the crook of his right knee, igniting a memory from childhood. _Dean wouldn't... _Sam thought.

"Dean-_No_!" Sam reached out weakly just as Dean, giggling stupidly, started light jabs into the tendons under Sam's kneecap. Sam's whole body lurched as he tried to suppress his laughter.

"Dean!" He croaked, but instead of coming out angry, the call to his brother was nothing but mirth. "Stop it, seriously," Sam laughed, making Dean tickle him harder, thoroughly delighted to hear his little brother's genuine laughter. Sam continued his pleas until Dean let up in good time, smiling.

"I was just checking you weren't lying," Dean claimed innocently.

"Uh huh," Sam panted, smiling. As Sam brought his breathing back to normal, Dean cupped Sam's kneecaps and rubbed them idly, looking around the room.

"Okay," Dean whispered decisively, getting up. Sam had calmed down and begun to turn back to the gravity of their situation.

"What?"

"I'm going to get more blankets," Dean replied.

"If they're warm then it's not a lack of circulation or warmth, Dean," Sam offered. Dean stopped and shrugged back at Sam.

"Humor me," he replied easily before ducking out of the bedroom. Sam sighed and looked over at the digital clock on the night stand: 4:47 AM.

He'd just discovered that he had no use of his hands or feet, yet he wasn't panicking. He knew it had a lot to do with the way Dean was handling it. It was innate in Sam to gauge situations based off his brother's cues: he had grown up doing it.

But also Sam just felt safe.

There was no impending threat, no frightening monster in the shadows, and feeling numb was a whole hell of a lot better than the straight pain he'd been experiencing before. He imagined Dean was tolerating this new symptom with so much grace due to this too. _Not_ feeling was preferable to pain at the moment and if it meant that he had to stay in bed and trust his brother, well... He was already doing that anyway. As loathe as it was to rely on Dean this heavily, Sam had to admit that Dean was doing everything right.

At that thought, Sam rolled his eyes. Of course he was doing everything right. This was not the first or even the hundredth time Dean's had to take care of him. It's never been like _this_, but...

"Back," Dean's raspy voice cut through the room and Sam's thoughts as he shuffled in with a couple of lightweight comforters. He threw one lengthwise across the bed over Sam's feet and kneeled onto the mattress, folding the second comforter out, readying it to cover Sam's chest. He ticked his head up expectantly.

"Put your arms on your chest," he murmured lightly and Sam did as he was told. He felt the comforter cover his body and Dean slumped down next to him. Sam could tell Dean was thinking, then felt the bed jerk as Dean moved over to turn off the light.

They languished in silence, resting next to each other and thinking their own thoughts. Sam blinked and took a breath, about to say something, then let it go with an exhale. He sensed Dean tilt his head to the side on his pillow, curious, so Sam figured he'd just ask.

"Think you'll be able to sleep now?" Sam said tentatively.

Dean gave a snort and turned to look at his brother in the dark. Sam quirked his neck to see Dean's face as his brother started chuckling a couple times more. Sam realized his brother was slowly building into full-fledged laughter.

Unable to help himself, Sam joined in half-heartedly at first, then more as time went on as he fully grasped why Dean thought the question was so funny: the idea that vocalizing an inability to sleep on Dean's part in light of Sam's problems was ridiculous... and hilarious.

Eventually the sleep-drunk amusement turned to chuckles and died down to a few leftover huffs. Dean sighed, smiling in the dark, and reached around to pull Sam against him. Sam went with it, absorbing the stability and sense of security that came with knowing that Dean could _laugh_ right now. Dean sniffed and rubbed his eye.

"Yeah, man..." he murmured, "I've got a hang nail, too."

And the brothers went off again, their laughs muffled as the sun began to rise.

* * *

**Writer's Note: **So, if you're wondering if there's going to be a hilarious-yet-really-sweet scene where Dean actually does have to help Sam eat, you're right, hahaha. It's just too cute/funny to pass up now.

Thank you for reading! If you can spare the time, please leave a comment/review!


	5. Numb Part II

Dean had put effort into this, thoughts shifting between amusement and concern as he sprinkled the finishing touches of salt and pepper over the two bacon and cheese baked potatoes he'd prepared. Sam had lost feeling in his hands and feet a few hours ago. Yes, it was alarming but it wasn't painful and it didn't seem to be anything mundane like poor circulation. Sam's hands and feet were going AWOL in a supernatural fashion.

While it had been disturbing to hear Sam's voice on the edge of panic last night, Dean had actually taken the new symptoms in stride. He was more relieved that Sammy's _other_ symptoms had started to lift. Sam was coherent last night - scared, but coherent - he hadn't thrown up blood, hadn't had too high of a temperature all day that day.

Dean had been waiting anxiously for when Sam could down solid foods again... and numb limbs or not, Sam needed to eat. So, Dean had wracked his mind trying to think of what solid foods would give Sam the nutrition he desperately needed while also minimizing the level of embarrassment the poor guy would feel while eating it. Dean had mocked this situation earlier because he'd thought it wasn't going to happen. Now that it was clear that this very much _was_ going to happen, he found himself pulling back on the urge to humiliate Little Brother. Dean knew he'd just feel guilty if he did. Instead, he had to do everything he could to make sure Sam would be okay and comfortable with this. Only _then_ would Dean feel okay to laugh through it - knowing he'd done his best at any rate and with any luck he'd get Sam to find the comedy in the situation too. He used to be really good at that.

When he'd started his brainstorm, he honestly couldn't hold back a grunt of laughter at the thought of feeding Sam a juicy hamburger laden with too much ketchup and mustard. He vaguely hoped one day this situation would repeat itself under less dire circumstances so he could follow through on that but for now he had to acknowledge that hand foods were out.

Sometimes Dean wished Sam knew all the breaks he gave him.

Moving on, stew or soup had to be ruled out because Sam would be mortified if Dean had to wipe his chin. Salad was out too because Dean would end up spending too much time doing concentrated fork maneuvers in Sam's mouth to make sure all the lettuce leaves got inside. Dean also considered eggs since it was breakfast time but soon decided against it. Eggs weren't substantial enough: he needed Sam to eat a heavier meal which meant carbs, fats... Protein was important but the protein shakes had kept him up well enough on that front.

Dean needed a food that would stick to the fork (or spoon) so it wouldn't fall on its way from the plate to Sam's pale, miserable face and something that would go in and come out of Sam's mouth easily with no mess or complication. Only with something like that would the two of them _maybe_ be able to pretend like it was totally no big deal that Dean was spoon-feeding his huge, completely mentally competent, thirty-year old brother.

Unlikely, but Dean had to try. So he'd ended up with two baked potatoes with melted shredded cheddar cheese on top and good solid chunks of bacon thrown in. Smelled really good - Dean tried a bite and while it was a bit on the hot side, it'd cool down in no time. He set it down on the serving platter and went about getting his and Sam's drinks together. Dean opted for a bottle of water and brought two just in case Sam felt like he wanted a break from drinking the protein shakes. The protein shake was mixed, cold and ready to go on the counter - Dean just plunked it down next to the large plate of baked potatoes and the water bottles. Ready and set, he took a breath and lifted the tray.

* * *

Sam opened his eyes, vaguely registering Dean's room before closing them again. He moved around slightly, getting more comfortable. Sighing, he absentmindedly tried to push hair off his face. Unable to do so, his eyes snapped open as the memory of last night came back to him. He looked around the dark room - wherever Dean had gone, he'd kept the lights off so Sam could continue to sleep - and then down to his hands resting comfortably against his chest under the covers. He tried moving the left, then the right, his right foot; his left. Total paralysis still... and now this was pretty fucking wretched.

Up side, Sam supposed, was that his fever was down. Yet he was still just as, if not more, incapacitated. At least with a fever he'd been able to fall off the bed. Although he could probably still fall off the bed if he, like, rocked his body back and forth. No idea why he'd want to do that now though...

Sam rolled his eyes at his own thoughts and wriggled himself up against the headboard. Realizing he couldn't redo the pillows, he made a face and leaned forward so they wouldn't dig into his back.

"Dean!" Sam shouted miserably, his voice scratchy from sleep, and waited for a reply. The walls were too thick. "_Dean!_" He called again, louder this time.

"Coming!" Dean returned, his voice distant. Sam gave a sigh and looked at his _dumb_ arms before using his shoulders to wipe his face. He blinked up at his brother when Dean appeared in the doorway carrying a huge serving tray.

"Hey - how you feeling?" Dean asked casually, turning the overhead light on.

Confused, Sam watched Dean set the tray on a small table against the wall to his right. Whatever it was, it smelled great.

"Um... good... actually," Sam replied, sitting up a little straighter to see what Dean had made. Dean blocked his view until he turned around with the protein shake and water bottles, moving over to the nightstand to set them down. He looked up at Sam.

"Paralysis thing still-?"

"-yeah," Sam interrupted, looking down and moving his shoulder back and forth to show Dean the resultant numb dangling of his arms. Sam looked back up at Dean sadly. Dean, on the other hand, couldn't hide his inner conflict. He _really_ wanted to laugh. He forced it down and focused.

"You're not in any pain though, right?" Dean asked seriously.

"No, I'm fine," Sam murmured, moving around a little bit. He turned around. "Pillows are digging into my back..." he trailed off self-consciously. Dean gestured for Sam to lean forward. Sam bent over closer to the bedspread while Dean pulled the pillows out and fixed them against the headboard for him. When Dean backed up, Sam scooted up against them and sighed.

"Thanks," he whispered, closing his eyes to ponder how terrible life was.

Dean ignored Sam's courtesy.

"Hungry?"

"Nah," Sam replied immediately, hoping against hope that maybe - somehow - _please_ _God _- this paralysis would go away soon so he could feed himself without resorting to Dean's help.

"'Kay," Dean said casually, going back to the serving tray. Sam was kind of surprised: under the circumstances, Sam thought Dean would be pressing him, negotiating a time frame for when Sam would promise that he _would_ eat no matter what. Dean didn't though - he just seemed to let the issue go as he picked the serving tray up and moved it around. Sam quirked an eye open to see what it was while Dean set it down on the foot of the bed. He stood up straight and looked at Sam.

"Okay hold on two seconds - I'll be right back," Dean said, backing up, grinning. Sam's brows furrowed in confusion as he watched his brother leave the room. He was gone for longer than two seconds and Sam found himself staring at not one but two baked potatoes with melted cheese mixed in. He identified the smell - it was unmistakable: bacon. The smell of it wafted through the room, relentless, covering every other less-than-appetizing scent and... and it looked really good.

Sam's stomach growled. He twisted to look at the protein shake on the nightstand and gave it a withering look. He turned back to Dean's plate and realized that it was a pretty large serving. Dean must be hungry.

Sam hoped his brother had been taking care of himself while he'd been so out of it... It was rough that he had fixed himself such a large helping for a meal. When was the last time Dean had eaten?

Sam was brought out of his thoughts by the sound of something heavy and metallic rolling down the hallway outside.

"Dean-?"

Dean didn't appear but the metal cart did, a small television resting on its top shelf. Dean angled it over the threshold and centered it in front of his bed.

"Found this," Dean grunted, crouching down to plug the machine in to a socket. "We can watch a movie or something, you know?" Dean said, hopeful. Sam's eyes lit up, grinning back, so incredibly grateful. He took a better look at the machine, squinting.

"Dean, how'd you _find_ this?" He asked skeptically, sad that he couldn't air-quote 'find.' "It has a DVD player in it."

"Shut up," Dean replied easily, fiddling with the controls to make sure the thing was set to register DVDs. Sam huffed a laugh. Dean was looking down, opening a DVD case below his line of sight.

"What're we watching?" Sam asked, sounding defeated. In truth, he really didn't mind Dean's taste in movies. They were pretty gory sometimes though but hey maybe it'd turn him off the idea of food altogether.

"Godzilla," Dean replied simply. Sam rolled his eyes, smirking, as Dean grabbed the remote from the lower level of the cart and made his way around to his side of the bed. He stood by, pointing the remote at the TV, and pressed 'start.' As soon as the film's credits began, Dean dropped down next to Sam. He crossed his legs, socked feet on the mattress, and pulled the tray up closer. Sam couldn't help but watch the food move, not the film. Dean was oblivious to his focus, thank god, busy messing with the remote.

Sam looked up to the TV, chiding himself for wanting to steal Dean's food, and was surprised to see the very modern-looking production company logos of TriStar Pictures and Centropolis Entertainment. It took a second but then Sam started laughing.

"The remake?" Sam asked, delighted. Dean was settled further from the headboard, hunched over his food in the center of the bed. He saw Dean's shoulders shrug.

"I can take one for the team on this one," Dean grumbled, making Sam start to laugh again. Sam opted out of asking how Dean had managed to pick up the TV and the movie, knowing Dean would give some smart ass answer. He just really wanted to give Dean a thank-you punch on his shoulder... but couldn't.

As the film began, Dean backed up a little further on the bed and picked up the knife and fork from the plate. Dean was ready to dig in and Sam braced himself, knowing that while Godzilla would be a great distraction, he was still going to have to watch Dean eat.

Sam glanced over at his protein shake again and tried not to feel sorry for himself. He turned back to the film and Dean took his first bite.

"This is kind of weird. Watching Godzilla at seven... eight in the morning," Sam commented lamely. He saw Dean shrug.

"We're on weird schedules," Dean replied. Sam bopped his head, nodding, giving that to Dean. Time's different when you're sick and Dean was riding along with him.

A few minutes in, Dean leaned back and twisted around, looking up at Sam.

"How you doing? Still okay?"

Sam swallowed and nodded, smiling with pursed lips.

"In a few minutes, I'll help you with the shake, okay?" Dean said openly. No judgment, no jokes; just Dean telling him he was going to help Sam.

"Okay," Sam replied softly, nodding. He looked up at Dean and Dean gave him a quick nod before hunching over his food again. He stuck a bite of baked potato into his mouth and chomped loudly, gazing at the television.

"...Unless," Dean hedged, his mouth full, "you want to eat some of this," he finished, still watching the TV.

Sam frowned and didn't say anything, thinking. After a few seconds, Dean turned around, his eyebrows raised. Sam squinted his.

"No," Sam enunciated, annoyed. This was a set up. This was a _fucking_ set up from the get-go, wasn't it?

Dean smirked knowingly.

"No!" Sam repeated vehemently, fixing his brother with an unblinking _I'm seriously serious_ expression. Seconds later, a quiet moment in the movie allowed his traitorous stomach's growl to be heard.

Sam blushed and jutted his chin out to compensate. Dean was _not_ going to... No. _No_.

Dean looked down at Sam's stomach, then back up at Sam, eyebrows raised, trying oh-so-hard not to laugh. Sam kept his steadfast expression of rebellion.

Finally, Dean relented. He shrugged and leaned forward, sticking his fork on an already-cut piece of baked potato and whirled it in the air before leaning back, twisting around to face Sam again.

"S'really good," he said bluntly, looking straight at Sam as he popped it into his mouth and chewed. Sam's mind went sullen before his face did... but Dean could read his mind sometimes...

Dean laughed, grotesquely in Sam's opinion because he was still eating.

"Ha ha ha!" Dean guffawed obnoxiously, his mouth open, masticated food clearly visible. Sam gave a disgusted look at his brother, but rolled his eyes at the win. "Ya gonna eat some of this, then?" Dean asked, swallowing.

Sam settled his eyes back to Dean, studying his brother's face, searching for an ulterior motive.

He found none. Dean actually looked genuinely hopeful; just simply excited that Sam might want to eat solid foods - never mind the fact that Dean would have to feed him.

Sam grimaced, conflicted, wanting to eat and yet _hating_ the idea of Dean feeding him like a friggin' infant. He looked at Dean, worried.

"You're not gonna be an asshole about this?" He asked.

Dean's smile disappeared.

"No," Dean replied indignantly, "Sammy, no," he reconfirmed. "C'mon, man... I want you to _eat_, dude."

* * *

Writer's Note: Thank you for reading! Please comment/review if you can spare a minute! _Also_ I just wrote a bunch of original flash fiction stories and posted them up on my web site for free. Just visit my profile page for the link to my site, click 'portfolio' - 'flash fiction' and voila.

You guys are awesome. Thank you again! - Alex


	6. Numb Part III

Sam cringed at his brother's rather unusual kindness and looked away. He sighed at the bed sheets, coming to terms.

He felt the bed move and realized Dean was moving up on the mattress. He subtly adjusted himself further against the headboard and maybe the slightest bit closer to Dean.

"Okay, c'mon," Dean murmured and Sam realized Dean had already forked a small bite for him and was holding it in the air near Sam's waist. Staring at the piece, Sam finally looked up at Dean with the most hilariously sad expression Dean had ever seen.

Taking it as his cue, Dean snorted and moved the fork towards Sam. He held his other hand below the utensil to catch any morsel that might fall but his hand was steady and solid. Not entirely surprising; Sam realized that Dean was in his element here and if anything he'd be better at this kind of stuff now because he wasn't like... six years old. And Sam was certainly no longer two.

"Your face is priceless right now, Sammy," Dean said softly, his smile gentle. Sam couldn't help blushing with embarrassment but before Dean had to say, "open up," Sam took the bite off the fork swaying in front of his face. As soon as the fork left his mouth, Dean turned back around and let Sam chew without being watched. He waited for Dean to say something snarky but instead his brother just looked back to the movie and took another bite for himself.

"S'good, right?" Dean asked absently, not turning to look at Sam. Sam nodded, realized Dean wasn't watching him, and gave a small cough before responding.

"Yeah."

At that, Dean twisted towards his brother again, lifting the fork up. It had another small piece of potato on it.

"Here," he muttered, nodding to Sam lightly as if he was doing nothing more than casually handing him a lock pick set. He brought the bite to Sam's mouth and Sam opened up.

It was actually really good. Creamy and cheesy baked potatoes had always been a favorite of theirs' growing up. It kind of took time for them to make though so they hadn't had it very often.

Things went on like that for awhile. Dean did everything he could to make things feel casual and normal for Sam and Sam quietly went with it, eating quite a bit while Godzilla played.

This really wasn't as bad or undignified as Sam thought it would be. Dean wasn't messing with him and that, he realized, made all the difference. With all their trust issues Sam had been somewhat surprised that Dean was so careful and genuine with him right now. He imagined it had a lot to do with how much he'd scared Dean in the past few days. He vaguely recalled a lot of hallucinations, a conversation with Dean's picture of Mom, and having been found on the floor half-naked and shaking, hanging onto the side of Dean's bed. Even if Dean only liked him a little bit nowadays, those moments would still give him legitimate reasons to worry.

Sam continued to watch the movie, comfortably taking the bites Dean offered him. He figured that Dean was doing all of this because he was simply concerned about Sam's health so the least Sam could do was help Dean help _him_ get better.

...

Yes, Dean had been serious. He wasn't going to mock Little Brother while he was still practically starving. _However_, Sam had just passed the half-mile mark on this: he'd finished about two-thirds of his baked potato without any problems... And Dean had bought pretty large potatoes. No nausea, no vomiting: Dean gave an inner fist pump of victory. Monitoring things without gawking at the kid as he passed him bite after bite, Dean knew Sam looked better now too. Not nearly as pale and, while the kid hadn't smiled yet, Dean was sure that the next time he did his eyes wouldn't look so glassy. No shakes or sweats either.

So, yeah, _now_? _Now_ he could... maybe...

Dean had purposefully been preparing smaller bites for Sam than himself just so the food wouldn't fall off the fork and also just to take things easy on Sammy and his stomach. Dean's own bites were larger. He wasn't sure but, if Sam had been watching, Little Brother would have deduced that the smaller bites were for him by now. Also, he'd patterned the bites so Sam could know when to expect his next mouthful: Sam, then Dean, then back to Sam, then Dean, and so on and so forth.

So Dean prepared another small piece of food after taking a large one of his own and instead of turning it to Sam, lifted it up to his own mouth to pop it in.

...

Sam squinted his eyes when he noticed that Dean took his second bite in a row... It was a small one too.

That bite was supposed to be his.

...

A few minutes later, Dean grinned when he felt Sam shift his position next to him, making the bed move. Dean pretended he didn't notice and took another bite from the plate. He felt Sam's eyes on him and had to hold back laughter.

...

Sam's eyes stared daggers at Dean's back. He'd hoped shaking the bed would clue his brother in. He was still hungry. He still wanted more and he could easily see there _was_ more... What the hell.

...

Dean prepped another piece of potato and quickly turned to Sam, surprising him.

"Open up," Dean said clearly, no nonsense, as he navigated the fork to Sam's mouth. Sam's eyes drilled into Dean's as he obeyed hesitantly.

Just as Dean pulled the fork out of Sam's mouth, Sam caught the playful glint in his big brother's eyes; the mischievous smirk that pulled at his lips right before he turned away. Sam's eyes widened, realizing this was deliberate on Dean's part.

"Oh my god, fuck you," Sam whined, still chewing.

"Sammy don't talk with your mouth full," Dean shot back teasingly, laughter in his tone. Sam swallowed and gave a furious sigh.

"Dean, I swear to god-"

"Shut up, Sammy," Dean interrupted good-naturedly, balancing another bite on the fork and turning back to Sam. "Eat your food," he added, smiling, as he gave a flamboyant wave of the fork 'soaring' to 'touchdown' into Sam's mouth.

Sam's eyes blazed, staring at Dean, willfully ignoring the fork's motion until it stopped in front of Sam's purse-lipped frown. Dean stared right back, his own eyes full of amusement, his smile on the brink of laughter. There was no purer entertainment than this.

"Sammy," Dean warned playfully. Sam's breathing was heavy with anger, his jaw set into a sharp angle, and Dean could just _see_ the conflict in Little Brother's eyes: he wanted to yell at Dean but if he opened his mouth, he knew Dean would jam the fork in before he got a word out.

The stand-off was _on_.

Dean finally snickered, his face about six inches from Sam's, as he opened his own mouth unconsciously, trying to get Sam to open his.

"Ah...ah..." he hummed, then fell into laughter again as Sam's eyes seemed to flare up in disbelieving rage.

When Dean actually pressed the forkful of food against Sam's tightly closed lips in an effort to wedge it on in there, Sam jerked away and sputtered.

"Dean, god damn it, no. I don't want any more. I'm done eating. We're done," Sam yelled, his voice scratchy but clear. He used his shoulder to wipe the mashed potatoes off his lips and cheek in the midst of Dean cracking up next to him. After a few seconds, Dean stopped and Sam glanced up to find Dean feigning a downtrodden look of rejection. He was ready to go another round but Sam was tired and sad. He'd thought Dean wouldn't be a jerk. He thought Dean wouldn't add insult to injury (or illness) and it wasn't fair. He thought... he thought Dean cared about him.

Sam sighed angrily and used his shoulder again to wipe his bangs off his now sweaty face. When he turned back, Dean's hand was reaching out to him.

"Dean, no-" Sam almost cried, annoyed at any attention being paid him by his brother now. He tried to shimmy away from Dean's hand along the headboard.

"Stop it," Dean murmured seriously and Sam stilled on automatic whenever Dean used that tone. Dean wiped Sam's bangs back more efficiently than Sam's shoulder had and pressed his hand against Sam's forehead gently. He kept it there while tilting his eyes to meet Sam's.

"You okay? Fever?"

Sam sniffed indignantly and shook his head, unable to meet his brother's eyes.

"You're just mad at me?" Dean asked freely, pressing his palm along one side then the other of Sam's face now. Sam nodded.

"Okay, just take it easy," Dean said soothingly, "I'm just messing around, Sammy," Dean reassured warmly, finally placing his hand on Sam's shoulder and squeezing.

"Okay," Sam said quietly, still not willing to look up at his brother. He didn't know whether to be embarrassed or angry or still hungry now. He was just really tired.

...

Sam refused to make eye contact with Dean now and Dean really wasn't particularly pleased about how this had panned out. He shuffled right up next to Sam, pulling the plate of food up with him, and put his arm around Sam. Sam let him but he didn't lean into it or anything. He slumped his shoulders so Dean could get his whole arm around him... but Dean ruled that as something Sam just did unconsciously.

Sam really wasn't appreciating Dean at the moment.

Dean sighed, miserably noting how skinny Sam had gotten, and decided to try again without being a dick.

Sam registered that Dean was prepping another small bite of potatoes and braced himself for further mockery. Dean felt Sam tense and gave him a half-hug with his arm before lifting the fork up to Sam's mouth.

"Dean-"

"No, really, c'mon," Dean interrupted sincerely. Sam sighed and opened his mouth. Still somewhat reeling from Dean's obnoxious behavior, Sam bit down a little harder than usual and hit his teeth against the fork's tongs. He gave a small grunt of discomfort and Dean pulled the fork out quickly.

"Dude, don't bite the fork, man," Dean said lightly and Sam could tell he was smiling. At that, Sam managed the smallest of chuckles and Dean rubbed his upper arm while he took a bite of his own. Sam sighed and his eyes wandered over and up at Dean.

"You're like Nurse Ratched," Sam muttered. Dean smiled at that as he prepped another bite for Sam. He leaned back to look down at Sam with the fork in hand and fed him as he replied.

"Florence Nightingale."

"Doctor Kavorkian," Sam replied, his mouth full.

"The hot chick from E.R."

"You're like a hot chick?"

"Shut up," Dean retorted, jamming another bite into Sam's mouth when he opened it to laugh. Sam laughed anyway though with more difficulty given the food in his mouth. He started coughing and Dean used the arm wrapped around him to pull him up higher against the headboard.

"Sit up straight, dude, you're sinking," Dean murmured as he adjusted his little brother. Sam went with it. This time Dean felt Sam lean into him.

"Sorry. I'm tired."

"You want to go back to sleep?"

"I don't know," Sam replied vaguely, not really caring. He felt pretty good now actually: full and warm under the covers and against his big brother...

He melted further against Dean, tilting his head towards his brother's neck. Dean returned the move by angling towards Sam and holding him tighter around his back.

As miserable as this was, Sam felt closer to Dean now than he had in a long time. It felt really nice to, for once, drop all pretenses and find that beneath all their bullshit, they really did care about each other. Dean really loved Sam and Sam had missed knowing it.

Dean casually brushed Sam's hair back, his hand lingering on Sam's head for a quick massage which honestly felt so good Sam couldn't keep his eyes open.

...

Dean tilted his head after a few minutes to give Sam a furtive glance. Sam was pretty close to passing out on him, his eyes closed, breathing steady, looking comfortable and snug against him. Dean quirked a small smile, kind of relishing these 'big brother' moments that had become so few and far between as Sam had gotten older.

He stopped messing with Sammy's hair: as much shit as he gave him for it, growing up he couldn't remember a better go-to way to put the kid to sleep than when he played with his hair. The additional plus was Sam's confused and exasperated face when he woke up with ratty hair with so many knots.

Dean pulled the plate of food up so he could polish off the last bits while they finished watching Godzilla. Sam rustled around against him and stilled as he sank against Dean's chest. Dean followed suit, lowering himself down a little further against the head board and getting comfortable as Sam's pillow. He pulled the covers up over his brother, sighed, and closed his own eyes. Before following Sam into dreamland, he unconsciously rubbed Sam's back to soothe his own nerves as he prayed to Castiel that this was recovery... that they were through the storm and not in its eye.

* * *

Writer's Note: Thank you so much for reading! Please please leave a review/comment if you can spare a minute!


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